


The Projects

by DangerFloof



Series: A Two Parent, Two Bottles of Wine a Night Job [17]
Category: Bob's Burgers (Cartoon)
Genre: Adulthood, Aged-Up Character(s), Bad Parenting, Complete, Explicit Language, F/M, Friendship, Poverty, Prostitution, References to Drugs, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:20:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26155636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerFloof/pseuds/DangerFloof
Summary: Zeke tries to help Jimmy Junior and Jocelyn, while Louise completes her homework and contemplates the difficulties of adulting.Please note: the story before this one in this series, “New Beginnings,” didn’t post on the correct date, and may have been buried in AO3’s feed.  It’s a short story, so it won't take long if you need to catch up.
Relationships: Louise Belcher/Zeke (Bob's Burgers)
Series: A Two Parent, Two Bottles of Wine a Night Job [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1052096
Comments: 12
Kudos: 15





	1. ONE

**Author's Note:**

> Please note: the story before this one in this series, “New Beginnings,” didn’t post on the correct date, and may have been buried in AO3’s feed. It’s a short story, so it won't take long if you need to catch up.

"Now honey, you _sure_ ya ain’t gonna be mad about me goin’ out tonight?”

“For the millionth time, no! You’re doing me a favor. Daniel’s group project is going to be _so loud!_ They always are,” Louise sighs, dropping her laundry bag on the couch, her schoolbag, heavy with books and rented laptop, still on her shoulder. She appreciates that Daniel is just as passionate about his future career as she is hers, and Louise genuinely hopes he fulfills his dream and becomes a paralegal for the ACLU. She just wishes his study group didn’t always “engage in lively debate” every damn time, especially when she’s working through her own homework, or trying to unsnarl whatever mess her mother made “helping” with the restaurant’s bookkeeping.

Zeke’s glad Louise gets along with her roommate, though he strongly suspects things would be far more difficult if he didn’t give Louise a place to stay when they’re both crushed with projects, and Louise is up to her eyeballs with schoolwork this Thanksgiving weekend. He’s happy to help, thrilled to think he’s assisting with her education, delighted by the way she rewards him.

Louise hangs her grey coat on the hanger Zeke keeps especially for her in the hall closet. “I have to write a thousand-word essay about modern issues presented in **Wall-E** ,” she says with an eye-roll. “And turn in my human relations homework tonight. _And_ I should start reading that chapter for Intro to Business.”

He nods. It all sounds painfully wooly to Zeke, who never did well at school; being of fairly average intelligence, he didn’t exactly lack the brains, but he definitely lacked the self-discipline, reading skills, and motivation. By the time it occurred to him that he should at least _try_ to catch up, he was so far behind his peers the effort seemed irrelevant. The fact that Louise does so well at so many difficult things increases his respect for her, perhaps _especially_ because he can rarely make heads or tails out of any of it. It increases his sense of self, too, for winning the love of such a smart woman. A man can go far in life with a woman like that at his side.

“Well, I got some snacks fer ya, an’ there jus’ might be a take-away box in the fridge with yer name on it.”

Louise brightens at this. Zeke often brings home special meals he prepared just for her at work, and they’re always delicious.

Zeke laughs at the way she perks up at the mention of food. Like any young college student, she’s always hungry, and never misses an opportunity to leap on a free meal. _But that’s nuthin’ to the surprise I got fer her._

Mentally rubbing his hands in anticipation, he picks up her bags, as always marveling she can walk so far with that heavy backpack. “Lemme show ya somethin.”

Curious, Louise follows him into the bedroom. The room is twice as big as hers and much nicer, with plush beige carpeting and dark wooden molding around the doorways and baseboards. She helped Zeke install blackout blinds and forest green light canceling curtains on the window, so the room stays pleasantly cool in summer, warm in winter, and comfortably dark for sleeping anytime. He finally added furniture last weekend, but bought a mattress and box spring early on. She eyes it with a little smile, wondering if he wants a quickie before he leaves. She kind of hopes not; this kingsized bed, one of the Sofa Queen’s finest, is always dressed with the smoothest sheets and fluffiest pillows, and it’s calling to her already. Louise loves dozing off under the cotton and wool blankets, cradled in his arms—that bed is pure bliss, infinitely superior to her old twin.

But Zeke leads her past the bed and motions to the closed door next to the headboard. “Go on in,” he tells her, grinning.

Louise frowns a little. This is an older building, probably the same age as her apartment, but better kept in general, and recently refurbished. She knows the door leads to what was originally supposed to be a nursery, and Zeke uses it for storage. Still, she follows his directions. She opens the door and gasps at what she sees.

Zeke turned it into a little office. He dressed the window with the same light canceling treatments he used in the bedroom and installed a space heater, so the room will be comfortable even in the coldest winter months. The random boxes and gym equipment are tidily stacked in an unobtrusive corner. Zeke set up a wooden desk and wheeled chair—second hand, like the rest of his furniture except the bed, the desk is scarred with a long scratch on the side, and the velvety seat has a visible butt-print—but they’re both otherwise in great condition. He added to the setup everything he thinks a student needs. He plugged in a power strip and phone charger, and hung a white erase board and a calendar from Mort’s place on the wall. A mug from Daytona Bike Week, gifted by Mudflap and Critter, is stuffed with pens, highlighters, and pencils. A noise-canceling fan stands in the corner.

Louise turns to him with open-mouthed astonishment, the delight on her face ample payment for his work. “What—it’s…”

“I wanted to make sure ya got somewhere nice n’ quiet fer studyin’,” he says. “Is it okay?”

Too late, Louise tries to affect a casual air, and fails. “Well, I can make it work, I guess.”

He places the black leather backpack he bought her as a back-to-school gift on the desk. “You can make it work, huh?”

Zeke is stalking her, pushing her back step by step. Louise’s eyes gleam; she loves this game as much as he does.

“I suppose, if I have to,” she sighs, a smirk trembling at the corner of her mouth. Her shoulder blades hit the wall.

Zeke grabs her and pulls her close. “Damn, yer a hard woman.”

Louise grins mischievously and grinds her hips against his. “You’re a hard man.”

Zeke fists the hair at the nape of her neck and pulls her down for a kiss. Too soon, he breaks away, both of them gasping for air. 

“Later,” he grunts, adjusting himself through his jeans.

Louise groans with frustration. “Oh, come on…”

He holds up his hand; if she takes just one step closer, he won’t make it out the door at all tonight. “You got lotsa homework ta do, an’ I’m meetin’ up with J-Ju.”

Louise makes a gagging face. Zeke chuckles to himself; it’s not the most elegant way to turn the conversation, but he knew it would work.

“Ugh, _why_ do you keep trying to polish that turd?” Louise pushes past him, opens her bag, and pulls out her laptop.

“Oh, he ain’t that bad. Jus’ a li’l…irresponsible, that’s all.”

“That’s all?” Hand on her hip, laptop forgotten, Louise begins ticking Jimmy Junior’s offenses on her fingers. “He tried to get into my pants. Failing that, he knocked up Jocelyn, and claims their baby ruined his life. He used Tina to make Jocelyn jealous. Did I forget something?”

“No,” Zeke sighs, staring at the toe of his boot. Damn, it _does_ sound pretty stupid when she says it like that…and she’s so much smarter than he is, she must have a point, right? He shakes his head. “Come on, baby, he used to be my best friend, an’ Jocelyn’s still my friend, an’ her life n’ Gracie’s would be a hell of a lot easier if he’d act right. I gotta _try_ to git through to him.”

Louise grunts in disapproval, looking and sounding so much like Mr. B Zeke almost smiles. 

“Look, I reckon maybe he jus’ needs a li’l guy time, one man to another, to remind him of his responsibilities. His father’s…his father, an’ ya know as well as I do the twins ain’t no use. I’m the only one who can help.”

_Boy, are **you** in for a disappointment!_ Still, she gazes at him fondly; his noble, albeit misguided instincts are disgustingly endearing. “Fine. You can tell me about it when you get back. Who knows, maybe you’ll make a breakthrough.”

Zeke knows she doesn’t believe that, but he appreciates her attempt at optimism. “Maybe. Good luck with yer schoolwork.”

They exchange nose crinkles, their private “I love you,” and Zeke turns to go.

“Hey.”

“Yeah, babygirl?”

“Thanks. For all this. It’s really wonderful,” she says with a shy smile.

“You can show me how much ya ‘preciate it later,” he tells her, his eyes on her mouth.

* * * * *

Zeke sighs a little as he sips his beer, fiddling idly with his phone. He was so glad J-Ju agreed to meet up he didn’t object when Pesto suggested Applebee’s, but now he’s here, Zeke wishes he’d persuaded his friend to go somewhere else. Maybe somewhere better than the dives Zeke likes, but damn, he feels like a fool hanging out at this temple to middle-class mediocrity on a Saturday night, especially when he has Louise and that pretty mouth of hers back home waiting for him.

_Well, I reckon a Bud Light’s a Bud Light wherever ya drink it_ , he reasons, taking another swig. _And these pretzels an’ dip ain’t half bad._

The place is jumping; staff will earn their tips tonight. The bar is packed with flirting, dolled-up ladies, and men subtly jousting to claim the best of the bunch. Zeke accidentally catches the eye of a youngish cougar, a little overweight, with large breasts threatening to spill entirely out of her low-cut blouse. She’s exactly the sort of woman he gravitated towards pre-Louise, and she smiles gamely at him. He offers her a little smile and salute with his beer before turning his attention back to his phone.

Raul and Mindy sent him a dozen pictures of their new baby, a bright-eyed boy with cocoa skin and a halo of curly dark hair. Zeke feels a twist of envy, looking at his old roommate’s son; everyone is having babies, he feels a bit...well, like he’s falling behind the curve. He knows it will be a long time before he can send out baby pictures and smoke celebratory cigars with Mudflap and Critter. The right woman is key to his plans, and Louise is worth the wait, but he can’t help feeling impatient—he has the perfect wife for himself, the perfect mother for his children all lined up. All he has to do is get her!

His phone pings with a text from Jimmy. J-Ju is running late, as usual. 

Zeke sighs again and orders another beer. 

  * * * * * 



Jimmy shows up twenty minutes later wearing an old brown leather bomber jacket, his hair tussled by the autumn winds. His face brightens at the sight of Zeke, waving his big paw enthusiastically from the booth.

“Hey, J-Ju!”

“Hi, Zeke.”

Jimmy hangs up his jacket and gulps the glass of water Zeke has waiting for him. “Hey, do you mind if I get a meal? I haven’t had dinner yet.”

“Whatever floats yer scrote.”

Jimmy orders the fish and chips and a Blue Moon. “This place is pretty nice. Anything to get away from our restaurant!”

Zeke returns the smile gamely, unwilling to argue the subjective merits of Applebee’s. “I ain’t seen ya in _ages_ , J-Ju. What’s up?”

“’Ain’t seen?’ I thought Louise would improve your grammar.” Jimmy shakes his head, but his eyes twinkle with good humor. “What’s a genius like her doing with a lunkhead like you?”

J-Ju isn’t trying to bait him, Zeke knows it. It’s the old joking back-and-forth, but he can’t help bristling, hearing his own recurrent thoughts spoken aloud. “We git along jus’ fine. What ‘bout you n’ Jocelyn?”

J-Ju’s face falls back into discouraged lines, and Zeke feels like an asshole. A _stupid_ asshole, since the point of this outing was to butter Jimmy up. “Oh, it can’t be _that_ bad! She’s not tryin’ ta hook up with ya, right?”

Jimmy groans. “No, but I _swear_ my dad’s trying to push us together. Did you know he turned my dance studio into a guest room for Jocelyn and her baby?”

Zeke takes his time draining his beer. There’s any number of ways he could answer that one. Like, for starters, it’s his dad’s place, he can do any kind of remodeling he wants. Or the fact that Jimmy’s “dance studio” was just a small room in the basement Mr. Pesto never bothered doing anything with until now. Also, it’s practical for the baby to have a dedicated space, especially since Jocelyn sometimes brings Gracie to work with her. And of course, none of that touches on the fact that the baby isn’t just Jocelyn’s.

“Well, ya don’t really need it now, since you got all the space ya want at school, right?” Jimmy took him on a tour of the college’s theatre department, so Zeke knows there’s three giant dance studios.

“Oh my _Gaaaaaaad!_ ” J-Ju rolls his eyes dramatically, and Zeke swears he hears Jimmy Junior’s old lisp. “You sound just like my dad! That was _my_ space. _Mine!_ That stupid baby of her’s is _ruining_ my _life!_ ”

Fortunately, the waitress drops by at just that moment. Food derails Jimmy Junior from his ranting, and he sprinkles malt vinegar on his fish and chips with enthusiasm, sour mood forgotten. 

_Well, this fuckin’ sucks._ Zeke orders another beer and settles in for an unproductive night.

* * * * *

First, Louise starts a load of laundry. She envies Zeke’s in-unit washer and drier—so much easier and cheaper and more sanitary than the shared appliances in the basement of her building! She does insist, to his chagrin, that she provide her own detergent; his generosity can be a bit much sometimes. 

Louise is perpetually astonished by how quickly expenses add up each month. Prior to moving out, she thought home budgeting was pretty cut and dried; you have X income, you know what everything costs, and you plan accordingly. Easy-peasy lemon squeezy, right? She didn’t expect it to rapidly become a difficult-difficult lemon difficult situation.

Every month seems to bring a surprise expense, often one she realizes, in retrospect, she should have seen coming. The first was laundry; she knew her building had laundry facilities, but she just assumed the cost was included in the rent, like water and trash. In fact, even though she washes her bras and underwear by hand, she would spend over forty bucks a month just to have clean clothes, sheets, and towels if Zeke weren’t so giving. 

This month’s big unexpected expense is the pair of snow boots she unlaces and tucks into the hall closet, replacing them with fuzzy house slippers. It’s not snowing yet, but she spent _so much_ money on those stupid boots, even on sale, that she’s determined to get as much use as possible out of them, and the weather app is predicting rain with a possibility of sleet this weekend. 

She really thought she could get another season out of her old ones, but she doesn’t regret spending extra on her new boots. Good snow boots are critical to both comfort and safety, as she discovered in eighth grade. That was a particularly lean year for the restaurant, and Louise’s wardrobe consisted almost exclusively of Tina’s hand-me-downs. At that point, Tina was notably taller and heavier than her sister, so nothing hung correctly on short, skinny Louise. The boots were the worst; a size too big, she never had sure footing, because her feet rattled around loosely no matter how tightly she laced them.

Settling down at her new desk, Louise starts on her essay for Contemporary Film, figuring she’ll get the worst over with first. She opts to go with **Wall-E’s** commentary on the modern obesity epidemic, as it’s an easy topic and one that personally interests her. Louise finishes much more quickly than she anticipated; she’s discovered that the more often she writes essays, the more adept she becomes at doing them. _Gross!_

She allows herself a short break. Since Zeke’s on the ground floor, she doesn’t hesitate to do some jumping jacks to get her blood flowing again. Good thing he left some weights in her new study, too!

Contemporary Film is the kind of class that demonstrates exactly why Louise doesn’t want to go for a bachelor’s degree. The associate’s program focuses on the essentials, leaving little wiggle-room for bullshit classes that have nothing to do with her career. At least it’s an easy class; her professor seems resigned to the fact that maybe two students are there because they actually give a crap about the subject. So, it’s boring and stupid, but it’s an easy A.

After stretching the kinks out of her neck and shoulders, Louise decides to explore her new study area. She chuckles as she opens the drawers; Zeke must have just walked down the school supplies aisle at Walmart and dumped one of everything into his cart. It’s a mish-mash of notebooks and sticky-notes, of Sharpies and extra highlighters and pens, a ruler, and—good grief, did he buy a bottle of Elmer’s Glue and some crayons, too?

* * * * *

Zeke turns the conversation back to dance, since that’s a topic guaranteed to put Jimmy Junior in a good mood. J-Ju leaps on it. “I’m really loving Contemporary Movement, but I have to take a course on human anatomy and physiology. It’s so _booooorrrrring_!”

“Well, won’t knowin’ how the body works help ya dance better?”

“I know, Zeke, it’s just…I wish I could just get a dancing degree, you know, and not have to bother with other stuff.”

“Ya sound like Louise,” Zeke chuckles. “She goes on n’ on about that film class of hers.”

“I see her around campus sometimes,” Jimmy muses, dipping a fish plank into a cup of tarter sauce. “She’s pretty popular.”

“Yeah,” Zeke grins. Who could resist hanging around his pretty, charismatic girlfriend? “Her sales are _boomin’._ ”

“Mm.”

“What’s ‘mm’?”

J-Ju shrugs. “I’m just saying, she’s always surrounded by guys.”

“Well yeah, look at ‘er!” Zeke narrows his eyes. “Are you tryin’ to tell me somethin’?”

“Wha—oh, no. I’m not saying she’s _doing_ anything with them, but if _I_ had a girlfriend like that, I’d keep a closer eye on her, that’s all.”

Zeke bristles, and Jimmy has enough sense to shift his gaze guiltily to his plate. Zeke doesn’t like the sound of Louise’s name in Jimmy’s mouth. They’ve already talked through Zeke’s resentment regarding Jimmy hitting on his girlfriend; Zeke can believe it was done in ignorance, and it’s a compliment to Zeke’s taste, right? That said, Zeke thinks it’s best if J-Ju steps _far_ back from anything to do with Louise.

“Well damn, whatdya expect me ta do? I can’t follow her all over school! I trust her, an’ I know lots of ‘er friends. We go to parties together.”

Jimmy Junior holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, jeez. It’s just…I don’t think they’re all buying from her, and some of them are really handsome. Smart, too.”

“Well thanks, I’ll keep it in mind,” Zeke says firmly, shutting down the conversation the best he can.

* * * * *

Louise closes her laptop with a sigh, having completed and turned in her Human Relations homework, an open-book quiz. She didn’t think it would take so long to answer five questions about the chapter they finished this week, but it took her almost an hour, and Louise decides if she reads the phrase “human capital” again, she’ll vomit. She likes marketing—that’s legal manipulation—but human resources blows. Louise decides an HR manager is the first administrator she’ll hire, once the business is big enough to warrant one.

By this point she’s so hungry she doesn’t bother reheating the meal Zeke left for her. Tossing the bun, she wraps the grilled chicken breast, pepper jack cheese, tomatoes, and garlic sauce in lettuce leaves and munches away, pausing only to toss a bite of roasted broccoli in her mouth. After a dessert of two Shim-Shams cookies, Louise carefully wipes down the table and tosses the containers in the trash. She sighs; the can is less than half-full, and a normal person wouldn’t think anything of it, but she knows Zeke. The garbage _must_ be taken out at the end of the night, no matter what.

Muttering to herself about her crazy obsessive roommate, and her crazy obsessive boyfriend, and how do they all find her anyway, Louise switches out the old bag for a new one. Checking to make sure she has her keys in her pocket—Zeke insisted she have a spare key to his place—Louise exits the apartment to toss the trash down the shoot.

The DuMont building is nicer than it was when she first visited as a little girl, to “help” Teddy find the lost _netsuke_. Mr. Fischoeder bought the building last year, and, determined to appeal to young hipsters, sank a significant amount of money into it; she knows Teddy and other contractors worked for months, and it paid off. Somehow, they managed to retain the charm of the old-timey building, but made it comfortable for modern renters. All the cabinets close properly, the stairs are solid, the wooden floors are shiny, and the bathrooms are completely remodeled.

The garbage shoot and mailboxes are directly across from Zeke’s front door, and Logan is at the mailboxes, his back to her, flipping through a handful of post.

“You can stream porn online, you know,” she says, gesturing to the catalog in his hand.

Startled, Logan turns, his golden hair flowing around his shoulders like a model in a shampoo commercial. He smirks as he gives her a once-over. “Or I could just listen to you and Gimli.”

Louise pushes the bag down the shoot and brushes her hands on her thighs. “Like to listen, huh? Figures—it’s the most action _you’re_ getting.”

Logan moved into the apartment directly above Zeke’s two months ago, to Louise’s amused irritation and Zeke’s chagrin. 

“The whole damn building gets an earful whenever you two go at it,” he shrugs.

Louise laughs and flips him the bird as she retreats back to the apartment. She doesn’t see the way his eyes follow her as she walks away.

Louise dips into the bathroom, promising herself a long shower with actual hot water that doesn’t crap out after five minutes. At Zeke’s insistence, she keeps toiletries in a drawer and on the plastic shelving unit he fixed in the shower stall. It’s convenient, and amuses her too; Zeke isn’t half as subtle as he thinks he is, she knows he’s trying to “ease” her into the idea of cohabitation.

_Like I need the push_ , she laughs to herself. 

* * * * *

Halfway through his fourth beer, Zeke decides J-Ju’s going to have to give him a lift home. He’s not drunk exactly—and only ladies get tipsy—but part of him knows his voice is too loud, his gestures too broad, for safe driving. Funny how he used to never consider such things, but now he has a woman at home waiting for him… _That gal’s a good influence on me already._

“God, do you remember the time we all sneaked into Wagstaff to keep you from getting sent to that disciplinary school?”

“Hell yeah!” Zeke chuckles. “That was the village really comin’ together right there!”

Part of Zeke wonders what his life would have been like had his father made good his threat, but he pushes the thought away. Zeke’s life isn’t a conventional one, but he’s quite happy with it. He’s well employed, respected by other Fishoeder thugs, and he has plenty of money to spend on the loveliest, smartest woman in the whole world. Anyone can look at her and see she’s properly looked after by her man, and that’s important to Zeke. He enjoys making her happy, loves showing off how nicely he can provide for her if only she’ll let him, and besides, a well-kept woman reflects well on her man, it proves he’s _somebody_.

“Remember that little Arnold guy shimmying through the window?” Jimmy Junior gives a little wiggle.

“Ya know that fucker’s over six feet now?” Zeke saw him at Wonder Warf last summer and almost didn’t recognize him.

“Damn, time flies.” 

Zeke raises his bottle. “Here’s to Louise and her million crickets.”

J-Ju clinks his bottle against Zeke’s. The men drink silently for a moment.

“Yeah. Uh, I always wondered…is that when it started?”

In retrospect, Zeke’s sure he would have immediately caught on to Jimmy’s implication had he been sober. As it is, he stares at his friend blankly. “Do _whut_?”

“You know, you and Louise.”

“J-Ju, she was nine years old!”

Zeke’s genuinely horrified at the thought. Back then he didn’t think much of anything about Louise; she was just Tina’s kid sister, a scary-smart ball of energy with bunny ears. His eyes and hormones constantly on Tina, Louise was a blur on the fringe of his friend group.

“Well yeah, but—“

“I _promise_ ya, I didn’t think _nuthin’_ about that li’l girl. Didn’t notice her like that ‘till two years ago.”

“Okay, okay, sorry. I was just curious.”

“Well, yer curiosity is kinda disgustin’.” Zeke’s mouth is a flat line of disapproval. He remembers Tammy publicly comparing him to Jeffery Epstein. Is that what J-Ju thinks of him—does _everyone_ think he’s some perverted kiddie diddler? The idea of molesting any child makes him want to puke, and the thought of hurting his Louise like that…

Jimmy Junior’s eyes widen. Much as he likes Zeke, he’s always condescendingly dismissed the guy as slightly dim but affable, built like a tank and harmless as a fly. Quietly puffing up with ire, visibly flexing against his t-shirt, it occurs to Jimmy that Zeke is peaceful by _choice_ , and anything but harmless.

“I’m sorry. It’s—look, this isn’t a good time for me.” Jimmy picks at the label on his bottle. “This time last year…well, you know.”

“Know what?”

“Me and—okay,” he sighs. “Joselyn’s baby’s three months old, and babies gestate for nine months, so…”

Zeke thinks for a moment. “ _Oooooh._ So this weekend last year, you guys—“

“Uh-huh. Worst mistake of my life.”

Zeke doesn’t quite slam down his beer, but he’s much firmer about it than he intended. “Knock it off, J-Ju!”

“What? She’s constantly around with her baby—“

“She’s yer baby too.”

“ _Technically._ ”

“Ain’t no _technically_ about it. Ya did the DNA test; Gracie’s yers, an’ it’s high time ya man up an’ act like it.”

Jimmy Junior and Zeke stare at each other in disbelief, both of them all but literally hearing their friendship break apart.


	2. TWO

Freshly showered and sporting her favorite skull-print pajamas, her hair piled on her head in a loose bun, Louise slips between the grey flannel sheets. She sighs as she spreads out like a starfish; her own little mattress is almost as old as she is, and it’s too short and too narrow to relax like this. Louise runs a hand over the emerald green satin pillowcases Zeke bought at her suggestion, as they’re especially good for curly hair. This bed is so comfortable, so luxurious… _He’s really feathered the nest_.

The entire apartment is sparsely but nicely furnished. Convinced that rich people’s cast-offs are better than those of regular folks, Zeke made several trips to Kingshead Island, where he haunted thrift stores, estate sales, and answered Craigslist adds; he almost always came back with something tied down in the bed of his truck. The sage green couch is all but perfect, except for a large Kool-Aid stain that’s easily hidden by Grandma June’s favorite quilt she won at a church raffle. The small table and chairs set in the kitchen just needed a little elbow grease to remove the crayon marks, and the bedroom set’s only three years old, sold because the original owners, as bored as they are wealthy, wanted to redecorate.

Louise rolls onto her side and idly strokes Zeke’s pillow. Zeke has a good eye for furniture, but, insisting he doesn’t “get” home décor anymore than he “gets” fashion, Zeke’s done little to dress up his apartment. He’s as rigid about his cleaning schedule as any professional housekeeper—Louise is sure he’s the only man in existence who’s been late for a date because “today’s vaccumin’ day”—but, beyond choosing shades of green, grey, and black, Zeke hasn’t decorated the place. A shame, in Louise’s opinion, as he’s created a great base from which to work.

She scoots over and turns on his nightstand light, squinting and blinking until her eyes adjust. Next to the lamp is the only real sign of personality in the whole apartment besides the quilt in the living room. Louise picks up the photo, housed in a cheap plastic frame.

The picture is dominated by Grandma June in her Sunday best, and Louise smirks, as she always does when she sees the photograph; his grandmother looked like Zeke in old lady drag. Zeke stands at her side, a husky boy about ten years old wearing an unironicly ugly Christmas sweater. Behind them is his father, Big Tony, wearing an equally ugly Christmas sweater, also without irony.

Tucked into the corner of the frame, almost entirely covering Big Tony, is a wallet-sized copy of Louise’s senior picture. Louise rolls her eyes at her younger self; she’s wearing a black, cold-shoulder top and staring _very_ seriously off into the distance. The shirt is unobjectionable, but her expression is just ridiculous, though at the time, she thought she looked smart and deep. _What a difference a year makes!_

* * * * *

Louise awakens some time later to the patter of rain outside and the distant sound of someone brushing their teeth in the bathroom. She cracks open one eye; she switched off the light before she dozed off, but she’s still on Zeke’s side of the bed. She tries to motivate herself to move over—Zeke is territorial about which side he sleeps on, probably because of the gun he thinks she doesn’t know is stashed in the nightstand—but she’s so tired…

Her eyes pop open at the sound of someone quietly sliding open a dresser drawer. There’re rummaging sounds, then someone pulling out clothing.

“Hey,” she says quietly, her voice rusty.

“Shit! Sorry ta wake ya, babygirl.”

“Glad you’re home,” she yawns.

“Really, baby?”

“Mm-hum.” Louise clumsily slides to her side of the bed and flips open the covers for him. He undresses and puts on his sweatpants and t-shirt. Feeling his way, Zeke slips awkwardly into bed and cups her cheek as he kisses her. She can smell minty toothpaste and beer; it’s a powerful combination. He settles down on his back and adjusts the pillow exactly to his liking, then holds out his arm.

“C’m here.”

Louise scoots over and curls up at his side, habit telling her where to lay her head, exactly how to angle her body for maximum contact and comfort. She runs her fingers lightly over his belly, teases the elastic band of his sweatpants. He takes her hand gently and kisses it.

“Not tonight, okay?” He laces her fingers with his and rests their hands on his chest.

“It’s good for what ails ya…”

“No means no, honey.”

Louise is glad he can’t see her pouting in the dark. _At least Logan will get a good night’s sleep_. 

“Don’ worry,” he slurs around a yawn. “I’ll plow ya real good tomorrow.”

“ _Plow_ me?”

Zeke kisses her hair. “I’m too tired fer yer word play, darlin’. Didja finish yer homework?”

Louise _humphs_ , surrendering with poor grace to the inevitable. This is another reason why she'd rather get high than get drunk--neither of them have been too stoned for sex. “I did everything I needed to do. You?”

Zeke sighs deeply and rubs his thumb along her hand. 

“Oh. Sorry.”

He shrugs a little. “Didn’ help I’m a li’l drunk.”

“I couldn’t tell, Mr. Plow,” she says, a hint of laughter in her voice. “You didn’t drive, did you?”

“Took an Uber.”

“Jimmy Junior didn’t give you a lift?”

“Jimmy Junior—“ he breaks off with a yawn. “Jimmy Junior can go fuck hisself.”

“Wow.” Louise lifts her head off his shoulder. She tries to look at him, but she can’t; the window treatments block out even a hint of light. _No wonder he isn’t in the mood!_

“I ain’t sayin’ he’s gotta marry her or nuthin’, but— _damn!_ Honey, the way he talks about Jocelyn an’ Gracie…never thought my old best friend would be so fuckin’ cold. ‘Bout turned m’ blood to ice, the way he went off about ‘em.”

His words are slurred, and his accent is thicker, as it usually is when he’s drunk or talking about his upbringing. It’s sexy as hell, which is unfortunate, as she isn’t getting any tonight.

“I…okay, I know he was your bro or whatever when we were kids, but you’ve hardly seen him for years. And—I never thought I’d hear myself say this, but Jocelyn can handle herself, at least in this situation.”

Her tone is gentle, but Zeke still responds as if she’d slapped him. He sits up abruptly. 

“Well, he used to be m’ best friend, and I reckoned we were still friends but…an’ Jocelyn’s m’ friend, an’ that poor li’l girl…”

Louise props up on her elbow, and reaches out to touch his shoulder. Her hand follows the curve of his neck and cradles his bearded cheek. “Yeah, I know, but he’s been like that for a year. Why do you care so much?”

Zeke jerks away. “Ya don’ git it.”

“But I want to.”

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, ready to stomp out of the room in a huff, but her surprisingly gentle tone makes him hesitate. Zeke weighs his options for a moment, swaying slightly. Sighing heavily, he slips back between the sheets. He rolls onto his side so they’re facing each other. Zeke runs a hand around to cradle her skull and kisses her forehead, inhaling her familiar sugary vanilla scent. _Ain’t no way she knows how I was raised, how hard I’ve had to fight to dig my way out of the trash. Maybe it’s time I told her._

“Gracie…that li’l girl’s gotta well-meanin’ fool fer a momma an’ a resentful idjit fer a daddy. It’s a bad combo, honey.”

“Well…I mean, I know, but there’s nothing you can do about it. You can’t make Jocelyn smart, or Jimmy Junior not act like a brat.”

“That there guy’s gotta case of…whatcha call it. When people stop developin’?”

“Arrested development?”

“Yeah, that’s it. Rested devel’mint. Swear ta God, he sounds like he’s still thirteen or sumpthin’.”

“You can’t argue maturity into him, Zeke.”

“Donchoo think I know that? I ain’t stupid, Louise.”

“I never said you are.”

Zeke grunts, and forces his spinning mind to focus. “See, when I were Gracie’s age…no, gotta go back farther’n that. Okay. Ya know how families jus’ _love_ ta gossip? An’ ya hear a li’l from this person, an’ a li’l from that person, an’ someone always gits shitfaced an’ tells ya a whole heap o’ crap they oughtn’t?”

“Mm-hum.”

“So. Alrighty. Nobody was mad when my momma an’ daddy started datin’. He was eighteen, an’ she was fourteen, but they met through some youth group at church, so everyone thought it was okay…right ‘til momma turnt up pregnant with me.”

He pauses, gathering his thoughts and courage for the next bit. Louise snakes an arm around him and begins gently rubbing soft circles on his back the way he likes.

“Meemaw Kleinschmidt ‘bout whupped momma’s ass when she—whatchoo gigglin’ at, woman?”

“ _Meemaw?!?_ ”

“’Meemaw’ is a common nickname fer gran’mas in th’ South,” he explains slowly, overenunciating some words and slurring others. “An’ my gran’pa was Peepaw.”

Louise’s strangled snickers burst into full laughter.

“Go on, git it outta yer system.”

It takes a moment, but Louise eventually brings herself under control with an effort. “Okay, I’m over it.”

“Mm-hum. _Anyways._ Meemaw ‘bout wore ‘er out, with how Momma’s ruint ‘er future an’ made Jesus cry an’ whatnot. Momma…wanted ta put me up fer ‘doption, but Meemaw wouldn’t let ‘er. She said Momma played, so she had ta pay. I was punishment fer her sin, an’ Momma never let me fergit it.”

“Oh, Zeke,” Louise breathes, all thoughts of hilarity forgotten. 

Zeke shrugs, affecting an air of indifference neither of them believes. He shifts a little, pressing closer to Louise. “It was a long time ago. An’ Momma tried, it weren’t ‘er fault she didn’t wanna kid. Gran’ma June was better about it. ‘Parently she broke a wooden spoon over Daddy’s ass an’ called ‘im a damn fool, but vowed she loved the sinner though she hated the sin. She told ‘im she’d help ‘im be the best father he could be.”

“So they married, ‘cause they hadta marry, an’ it was a shit marriage, an’ they divorced a few years later, an’ Momma got custody of me at first. It…I was too li’l ta understand, but fuck Louise, it was awful. We lived in a slum, I mean a real one, used needles in the street, hell, the buildin’ was more mice than brick…”

Zeke shudders, unable—or unwilling—to elaborate. Louise thinks of his aggressively tidy habits: it all makes sense now.

“An…well, Momma had a lotta ‘boyfriends,’ ‘cept they weren’t really boyfriends. Johns an’ dealers, that’s what they was. I don’t blame ‘er much, I mean, welfare goes jus’ so far, an’ whatchoo gonna do when you ain’t got no education?”

“Shit, Zeke, I had no idea…”

“Well baby, it ain’t sumpthin’ I like talkin’ about.” He nuzzles her hair. Somewhere in the back corner of his mind, Sober Zeke is shouting at him to shut the fuck up, but Drunk Zeke is in charge right now, and Drunk Zeke is a talker.

“So, me an’ one of ‘er ‘boyfriends’ got inna fight, an I had problems at school, so Dad got custody of me when I was nine. It was better with him. He lived with Gran’ma June, an’ they looked after me pretty good. I mean, Gran’ma June, she was a real lady, strict an’ old-fashioned an’ whatnot, but she loved me an’ she cared. Dad…his attention’s always been everywhere, an’ I think he _wanted_ ta be a good dad, but he didn’t always make time fer me. The attention I got depended on what was goin’ on in his life. He’s like that with all us kids; it’s just his way.”

He’s tired now, the beer is really kicking in, and the bed is so comfortable, and Louise is so warm by his side…Zeke yawns. “I don’ want Gracie ta be raised like I was, that’s all. I thought…I thought J-Ju an’ me, we could go back to things like they used ta be, but we’ve changed too much. I—I reckon we can’t go back to how things was.”

“No,” Louise says quietly, pulling him to her for a kiss. He sighs and lies down in her arms, resting his head on her shoulder. “You can’t go back, but you can go forward.”

She feels him nod.

“So now ya know th’ truth.” He drapes a heavy arm across her body, alcohol, the late hour, and emotional exhaustion finally catching up to him. “I’m reformed white trash—had ta work my way up ta bein’ a redneck. _Fuck_ , I love ya so damn much, Louise. I know I ain’t half good enough fer ya. Jus’ some lunkhead doin’ his best.”

“But you’re _my_ lunkhead, and that’s what matters, you beautiful idiot.” 

Zeke chuckles softly and gives her a squeeze. He drifts off to sleep clutching her for comfort, like a child cuddling his Teddy bear. Louise pets him gently; right now, his weight is warm and comforting on a cold late autumn night. She knows from experience he’ll snore her awake a few hours later, and she’ll be stiff and sweaty, half-crushed, but she doesn’t care. Louise lies awake for a long time, mulling over what he told her, wondering how much of it was true, and how much of it was drunken babbling. They’ve been friends, partners, lovers for over two years now, but it occurs to Louise that she doesn’t know him nearly as well as she thought she did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Everyone,
> 
> I’ve been watching a lot of "King of the Hill" lately, and it’s creeped into my writing. Joceyln’s daughter was named Gracie after Luanne and Lucky’s daughter, and Meemaw Kleinschmidt was inspired by Lucky, too. His real name is Elroy Kleinschmidt, so I guess that makes Zeke his cousin. Hey, at least Zeke’s claim to fame and fortune isn’t slipping on pee-pee at the Costco…
> 
> My interpretation of Jimmy Junior was inspired by Bill Dauterive. Remember that Valentine’s Day episode when, thanks to Bill, Bobby fell into a spiral of despair about Connie? I can see J-Ju doing something like that; he’s just so unhappy he pulls people down with him whether he intends it or not. I hope to do more with him in the future.
> 
> DangerFloof


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